


Glow in the Dark

by carine18



Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:20:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25167595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carine18/pseuds/carine18
Summary: A bout of insomnia makes Shisui visit Itachi. Turns out, Itachi can't fall asleep either
Relationships: Uchiha Itachi & Uchiha Shisui
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	Glow in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [altraes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/altraes/gifts).



> I'd like to think Itachi would give his victims a happy memory with his mangekyo before he killed them, just making death a little sweeter for them :)
> 
> Also, dedicating this to the person who got me into fanfiction in the first place and has consistently given me some of the best fics out there to read <33

Shisui lay in the dark, his sharingan tracing the cracks in the worn paint on the ceiling. He had memorized every detail of that coat of peeling paint, and yet sleep eluded him. The ticking of the clock on his wall seemed to grow louder by the minute. Shisui sighed. It was rare that he couldn’t fall asleep—the intensity of his daily training was enough to ensure a deep sleep the moment his curls hit the pillow. Not tonight. He pulled the covers tighter around his body, hoping that maybe the warmth would lull him into a slumber. 3:30, he made out in the darkness of the new moon night. He turned over on his stomach and groaned.

Any secret trips to the Uchiha household were unwise. Shisui was well aware of the visual prowess and the firm grip that the clan leader kept on his sons. Fugaku respected Shisui, but he would be displeased if he found the young man sneaking into his home, into his elder son’s bedroom, nonetheless. Shisui always wondered if he should shunshin inside, but the slight disturbance of chakra created by such an advanced jutsu would also be detected by Fugaku. Shisui moved closer the window, his red eyes reflecting in the glass, the only light in the moonless night. He slid the window open and stepped in, his footfalls too light for even Itachi to notice. Or so he thought. A piercing red gaze followed him from atop the mattress, startling a gasp that Shisui tried to strangle in his throat. “Itachi! What are you doing awake?” he whispered. “What are you doing in my room?” came the controlled reply. 

“Um, I couldn’t sleep.” 

“You know Father would not be happy if he ever caught you doing this.”

“I know. I just wanted to see you.”

“Shisui this isn’t—”

“I know, I know. But I’m already here so save it for next time.”

Itachi sighed. Hearing him give up, Shisui slid the window closed and made his way to the mattress. “Don’t sit next to me. I can’t touch you right now,” warned Itachi’s voice, measured as always. Shisui understood. Any shinobi who had worked in the ANBU would understand, some days you can’t touch anyone, some missions are just particularly demanding. Shisui found himself a spot on the wooden floor, eyes fixed on Itachi’s, who seemed to have his gaze stuck on a corner of the room. 

“You should deactivate your sharingan,” Shisui said, “it’ll take the edge off.”

“I can’t.”

“When did you get home?”

“Midnight.”

“And you’ve been like this since then?”

“Yes.”

Shisui couldn’t help but marvel at the coolness of Itachi’s tone. Not a single note of panic, despite being unable to deactivate his sharingan, something even the youngest Uchihas did with ease.

“So who was it? Someone from the stone?” Shisui prodded gently. Itachi never handled his kills well. He was an expert in combat and assassination, but the pride and joy of the Uchiha clan had never been able to stomach the morbidity of his position. Every kill left him with sleepless nights, and it hadn’t gotten much better from when he first started. “Mist,” Itachi replied. “She was fast, brilliant. One of the best I’ve seen. Injured half our squad.” He paused. “She was 8, Shisui, maybe 9. She was younger than Sasuke.” His voice wavered slightly at his brother’s name. “I’m not sure she even understood what she was fighting for.” The wryness of Itachi’s voice struck a chord with Shisui. He often described his missions with distaste, but this was different. “Her family will never know what really happened. Soon she will just be another headstone covered in dead flowers, engraved with a name that meant nothing when she bled to death in a foreign land.” Itachi’s voice grew hollow in the darkness. “I didn’t even bother delivering a happy memory this time, I just let her suffer in my genjutsu until her body went limp.” Itachi’s eyes glittered dangerously in the darkness.

“Hey, it’s al—”

“What makes me more worthy of life than her?”

The question hung in the air for a second. It was rhetorical, Shisui knew. They’d had this conversation before, and the only answer they both had to this question was “nothing”. 

“Why do I deserve to be alive?” Itachi asked, his voice betraying the smallest hint of desperation. “Answer me, Shisui,” he demanded, in a voice intended to sound commanding, but all Shisui could hear was the quiver that laced the words. “Why should I continue to be alive, when I have lived twice as long as her?” Itachi’s breaths grew shallower. “Tell me,Please,” he begged, voice reduced to a whisper, staring into Shisui’s eyes. Sanguine orbs locked in the darkness. One pair of red eyes flickered.

Shisui’s arms held Itachi in a tight embrace. He could sense the change in Itachi’s sharingan, morphing into the mangekyo as his body bucked against the sudden touch. It was reckless to touch Itachi at all, much less to shunshin his way onto the mattress and force him into an embrace. But Shisui knew he had no other choice. There were no words to answer the questions that echoed in the darkness. Itachi struggled against his powerful hold, speaking words of protest and warning that were smothered by Shisui’s chest. Shisui’s arms held fast as Itachi landed blows on his body, blows that Shisui knew were controlled. Itachi would never hurt him. Even pushed over the edge, he could never strike Shisui with full force. The assault continued, but Shisui didn’t budge, not when Itachi’s fingers wrapped around his throat, not even when his vision began to fade around the edges. Itachi could never hurt him. 

Shisui held his position until he felt the man in his arms grow tired. The attacks had long ceased, and he no longer pushed against Shisui’s chest. Shisui’s shirt was damp, with sweat or with Itachi’s tears, he couldn’t be sure. He cautiously loosened his grip, watching for any signs that Itachi might bolt out of his arms. Itachi was calm, his head resting against Shisui’s body, arms wrapped loosely around his waist. The mangekyo was long gone, but red still shone through his half-lidded eyes. Shisui could feel Itachi’s heartbeat, slow, steady. “I just don’t know why I’m still alive,” Itachi mumbled, his exhaustion bleeding into every word.

“Because you’ve been lucky,” Shisui answered, kissing the top of Itachi’s head. “And because you have something to fight for.” Itachi stirred slightly in his arms, silent. “You’re going to end all this bloodshed, you’re going to lead the way to peace one day,” Shisui continued. “And you have to mentor Sasuke, make sure he doesn’t make the mistakes we’ve made.” Shisui straightened his back, turning Itachi’s head to face him, tired eyes still glowing red. “Do you understand, Itachi? He paused. “You have me, waiting for you to come home.” Shisui tipped Itachi’s head upwards, placing a soft, chaste kiss on his lips. Itachi’s eyes opened, revealing ruby rimmed black irises, the red receding from the edges.

Shisui felt how depleted Itachi’s chakra was when he crumpled into Shisui’s arms, finally free of the dōjustu. Shisui laid Itachi back onto the mattress, pulling the blanket over to cover him. “Shisui?” “Yeah,” Shisui replied, not needing to hear the rest of the question. He settled in next to Itachi, nose buried in his hair, one arm holding his back to Shisui’s chest. Itachi’s fingers curled loosely around his wrist as he drifted off. Shisui couldn’t stay too long—Fugaku and Mikoto rose at the crack of dawn—but he’d stay long enough to hear Itachi’s breathing slow down, deep and even, finally allowing him to rest.


End file.
